Affair On El Camino Drive
by SllnaaEsh
Summary: A story of a love that had gone disaster getting a second chance. Their break up was painful. Years later, Santana finds that Rachel is engaged to Quinn. And then, cue an affair on El Camino drive.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I have this idea running through my head. I didn't ever want to write a Faberry pairing even if for a little bit, because it makes me anxious. I like both ships. In the end it will always be Pezberry. I'm not entirely sure how this will be received, so I'm not too sure if I'll continue. Anyway..._

_Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Glee doesn't belong to me._

* * *

Santana was mostly content with her life right now. She spent her days-off basking in the warm Southern California sun. She wore sunscreen to keep her skin smooth and it's not like she needed a tan anyway. She was also even more beautiful now at twenty-five than she was in high school. Venice Beach may as well have been a different planet, as it seemed just as far away from Lima as Saturn. Maybe even Pluto. The last time she set her eyes on the small, intolerant town was the day she left for Kentucky.

She lay atop her beach towel and scanned the water behind her aviators. Spotting her friend, she waved and let out a carefree laugh, one that she rarely let out in high school. It was high noon and she was starting to get hungry. She waved more diligently to indicate that she wanted him on the beach towel next to her.

"Hey, Mike, get over here or I'll eat your share, too!" She yelled, cupping her hands over her mouth to amplify her volume.

It was useless, though, since the sound of the waves crashing into soft sand drowned out a lot of his surroundings. But, he knew that face and saw her pull out the Tupperware and plates.

Santana's stomach grumbled a familiar sound as she set out an array of cheeses and meats. Despite being roommates, they set up surf dates to ensure 'bro-time' and met up as often as their schedules allowed, which wasn't all that often, for a picnic on the beach after surfing morning waves.

"Did you see my last catch? That was sweet. I think I impressed the blonde in the pink bikini," an out-of-breath Mike said through puffs of breath.

Santana smirked and shrugged. "I saw you wipe out a few times, there Mikey." She _did _see the wave he rode and was impressed, but she wouldn't admit that.

"She's hot right?" Mike ignored her teasing. "I saw her here last weekend with John." Mike Chang took a piece of bread and started placing pieces of turkey and prosciutto on top. "What is this?" He asked, pointing at one of the cheeses.

"The lady said it was gouda or some shit." He gave her a questioning look and she went to clarify, "Cheese. A type of cheese.""

"It smells like feet."

Santana laughed through a sigh. "Yeah, well you did say you wanted to have 'classy' lunches, because apparently the chicks don't dig on the hot pockets we usually bring." God, she wished she had those right now, because the cheese really did smell like feet. "Which is fucking stupid because the sand is getting in the freaking food. I feel like we're eating cat litter."

Santana ran her fingers over her newly made sandwich of her feet-and-funky-meat creation and felt granules of sand. She grimaced and tossed it aside.

"What a waste of money," she grumbled and looked at Mike for his agreement.

Mike mumbled something through his chews and shrugged.

"You're actually eating that shit? You're gross." Santana picked up another box from her bag to reveal a Tupperware full of cookies and popped a whole one into her mouth.

A short brunette walked passed in a barely-there string bikini and Santana's breath hitched once she caught sight. Memories of the girl she let get away pulled at the strings of her heart. Upon closer inspection, she mentally noted that the girl's legs were too short and her nose was too small: imperfections that could never measure up to her old lover.

Mike followed her gaze and made a point to change her train of thought because he was well aware of her past. He was apart of it, after all.

"I'm going to do it; I'm going to WipeOut to ask for sponsorship."

Santana's eyes snapped toward her best friend and a genuine smile flooded her features. She knew he'd have all the chance in the world, and she couldn't be more proud of him. She reached over the now-neglected food and pulled him in for a tight hug. "You're totally going to get it. Now let's go get some real fucking food, because I wants to get my eats on."

The duo packed up their lunches and fit their surfboards into the rooftop hardcase on Mike's SUV. He patted his vehicle affectionately before stepping in. Turning on his engine, he looked toward his long-time friend and asked, "How does Lucky Strike sound?"

"Perfect."

Lucky Strike was their favorite restaurant bar, the reasoning partly due to its location being one block from their place. They opted to sit at the bar to catch the tail end of some sports game Mike was enthusiastic about. He would have sat home to watch, but there was no way he'd miss the forecasted waves. Santana could care less about sports, but she wouldn't deny food and good beer.

"Hey, Stan. Two Sierra Nevadas and two cheeseburgers," Mike ordered. He always was chivalrous, something Santana came to find endearing over the years.

They sat in comfortable silence; both feeling the subtle effects of the morning workout the ocean had given them. From afar, people assumed the two to be a couple. They moved fluidly in reaction to each other's decisions, automatically in tune with each other. Mike was every bit as handsome, and his face was more defined. His chiseled jaw was now covered in light stubble, which surprising suited him very well. If Santana weren't so into the female gender, she had no doubt that she would have married Chang. Though, they did have a one-night stand years ago to which they both can now comfortably joke about.

The beers came and Santana took a long pull from her glass and reveled in the drink. "Still tastes like Christmas in my mouth."

"Yeah, if you like to taste pine needles. "

She took another long pull of her drink and allowed her mind to venture into painful territory. There are many short brunettes in this city – in any place, really. So, it's not like she thinks about her every time she comes across a girl who fit that description. She said nothing in reply to Mike's comment on the drink. Santana instead looked at him and offered a fake, small smile.

Seeing through the mask, the surfer took his own gulp of beer and turned in his stool to face her. "You're thinking about her, aren't you?" He asked softly.

His suspicions were confirmed, not that he really needed confirmation, when she started tapping absently on her drink. She shrugged knowing it was no use trying to lie to her best friend.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Soft, brown eyes adorned with worry and sympathy looked over Santana's still face. She returned Mike's gaze, wishing, not for the first time, that they were a different set of brown eyes that accompanied her.

"I saw Kurt looking at the Tony nominations at work yesterday." She shook her head and chuckled lightly in a mixture of regret and slight adoration. "She's up for lead actress in a musical."

Mike's eyebrows lifted up. "Wow. She's really made it, huh?"

Santana's smile spread wider this time. "She's the brightest star to come out of Lima. She's where she belongs."

She sighed and looked at the time on her phone. "I better check in with Kurt." Mike nodded in understanding as she finished off the rest of her beer. "I got this," she said before winking at him and setting a twenty-dollar bill down. "Just put my burger in the fridge."

Sounds of traffic, the honking, the screeching of tires, and the occasional yelling of road-rage were so opposite of the roads of Lima, Ohio. They pulled Santana's thoughts into the present, where she walked down three familiar blocks to her destination. She smiled as she saw the elegant sign atop the door.

S.K. Marcob Designs. Santana opened the door and shivered slightly as the air-conditioning covered her body in goose bumps. She was still in her bikini underneath the t-shirt and yoga pants she had pulled on after her morning surf.

"Welcome to S.K Mar- oh, it's just you. Well, don't you look like you crawled out of a fresh grave?" Kurt teasingly lifted a well-groomed eyebrow and pointed his finger up and down at her attire. "Am I supposed to assume this is part of your new line?"

She scoffed and ruffled his hair, earning a squeal. "What have I told you about the hair?!" He pawed frantically at his hair and sighed as he realized it was fruitless.

"You told me I'd have to pay for your therapy, princess. How are things in the fort?"

"Well, Boss, we've got a consultation next week with a secret client. Rude, if you ask me. The man said something about high profile and not wanting the press to alert her presence. Oh, do you think it's Adele?"

Amused, she replied, "Hm..No I think we penciled her in for next month."

"WHAT?! HOW DID I MISS THIS?"

"Whoa. Joking. Don't cream all over my shop."

* * *

"Quinn! I'm nominated! I..I.. I'm NOMINATED!"

Rachel's enthusiasm blared through the cell phone cradled within Quinn's hand. The jingling of bracelets could be heard, too, and it was clear that the brunette was jumping up and down in excitement. Quinn momentarily lifted the device away from her ears and let the screaming continue.

"Oh, baby! This is so amazing! You are amazing, and GOD you deserve this." Pure adoration filled the blondes features as she smiled at this news. "I'm so proud of you, sunshine."

The moment was abruptly interrupted as a deep throat clearing echoed through the small room Quinn was standing in. Quinn scowled as she turned her body to face whoever dared interrupted this monumental moment.

Three men in business-casual clothing coward backward in their chairs as they saw a glimpse of the famous HBIC glare, complete with a clenched jaw and raised eyebrow.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. My fiancé has just been given amazing news, and I'll be damned if you continue to ruin this moment. Continue without me. I'll be back for the proposal tomorrow."

Without a backward glance, she headed toward the glass doors, releasing her from her obligatory confines.

"Quinn? Did I interrupt your meeting?"

"Hm. Yes, but they don't matter. This is your dream, Rachel. I'm not going to let some men in cheap ties tell me what to do."

"Oh, Quinn! You know how I feel about missing important meetings. However, since this is my day, I will let it slide. Are you..do you have to head back into the room soon?"

Quinn smirked and huskily replied into the phone, "Mmm. No, baby. In fact, I am going home right now to show you just how proud I am."

Quinn hailed a cab and hastily supplied the driver with her address. New York had been called home ever since she transferred from Yale to Columbia her sophomore year. Lima was too small and too stagnant to ever satisfy Quinn, let alone Rachel Berry. Quinn could picture her fiancé pacing back and forth in excitement in their loft. Images of tiny, tanned feet padding across the wood-covered floor as she failed to find the words to express her feelings flickered through her mind. Maybe she'd be on their balcony, singing to her hearts content, belting out, "HEY, MANHATTAN, HERE I AM!"

Rachel was in fact pacing the floor, but she was not singing. She was pacing in impatience, waiting for her lover to _finally_ arrive to celebrate. In the back storage banks of her mind, she was pushing down the guilt she felt. Right after the call, the one notifying her of her nomination, she bounced with unbelievable happiness. When she hung up, her mind went directly to Santana Lopez and how the girl would sit through all of the Tony Award speeches she gave in high school –in her pink, bedazzled bedroom. She remembered the playful teases and the promises from Santana.

"_I'm going to be there, Rachel. I'm going to be sitting in that audience and I'll clap louder than all of them."_

"_Well, Santana. Seeing as you're my girlfriend, I would expect nothing less than the utmost enthusiasm."_

"_Then, I'm going to make my Tony award winning wife moan symphonies."_

"_Wife?"_

"_Yep. I'm going to marry the shit out of you."_

A love gone disaster allowed her life to follow a different path: a path to Quinn Fabray, her fiancé.

The sound of a door flying open knocked her out of her reverie and she soon found her waist being enclosed by pale arms, not the tan ones she had been thinking of.

"Baby." Quinn whispered into her neck.

Rachel giggled at the sensation and presently remembered how much she did love the girl behind her. Quinn lifted her up and twirled her around.

"That's my girl. That's my Tony nominated, beautiful fiancé." Quinn settled the brunette down and brushed stray, brunette tresses behind her ears. "What are you thinking at this moment?"

"Oh Quinn, what am I going to wear?!"


	2. Chapter 2

Life just wasn't fair. It had been a few days since she had learned of Rachel Berry's Tony nomination. Kurt opened a freaking dam. Gushing, rapid waters hit the sides of her conscious at the most inopportune times and situations. She only ever did this a few times a year, and every time it turns into a sleepless night on her bed, laptop perched next to her pillow as she falls into the freaking rabbit hole – tumblr. The first time her Internet binge happened was when Brittany sent a group email to the Glee club about Rachel's opening night at an original Broadway play. Tickets were held at the call box for everyone.

No one knew of this habit but Mike Chang, and that is only because he found a trail of candy wrappers and wine corks around the apartment when he returned from a lengthy dance tour. Mike rarely ever gasped; he always had this stoic approach to everything. It was always a sort of "observe now, react later" platform that drove Santana absolutely mad. How can he be so fucking calm all the time? So, when he found his best friend in curled in a pathetic ball in front of youtube videos, he yelped. That alone was enough to snap Santana from her sobbing.

Santana found herself sipping generously out of her third glass of merlot when she decided 'fuck it, what can a search do?'

_Damn you, tumblr. Damn you to hell._

After hearing of her Tony nomination, binging on digital information seemed like the best and worst idea. And, damn it if the wine wasn't good, too.

Images of the chocolate brown eyes filled her screen. Unintelligible sounds vibrated through her throat as the twinkled, brown eyes bore through the camera. Something akin to regret clenched her gut as familiar saltiness trailed from brown eyes of her own. She was only four images into her search and she had already been turned into that. It wasn't until she ran into some candid photos of her with some douchebag-looking guy with curly.. oh no. Jesse St. James. There are pictures of her with Jesse all around New York City, hand-in-hand..

No way. _No way_.

Masochistic tendencies won out over what ever reasoning she had left as she clicked on the first blog that posted those pictures.

_Jesse and Rachel seen having dinner at exclusive restaurant. [210 notes]_

_Rachel cast in new Broadway show opposite St. James! [63 notes]_

_St. Berry love tweets [1,421 notes]_

The candids are slightly creepy. And how these people seem to know almost everything about her is a mountain of weird, but Santana was secretly delighted to have this sudden insight, if feeling only a little dirty.

There is no freaking way Rachel would go back to that egg-throwing moron. She was positive. They had an abundance of PDA, but Rachel was just like that. It was one of the things she had found endearing. Rachel always needed to be touching someone, kind of like those babies in orphanages who needed constant love, constant attention and constant reassurance. However, St. James did not deserve to have her attention. Of course Rachel would offer a friendship after he egged her. Rachel is the kindest, most forgiving person in the world.

Santana walked into her kitchen, needing a break from the recent discovery. Pouring herself another glass of wine seemed to be a good enough reason for a break, anyway.

Her cell phone chirped. It was one o'clock in the morning. Who the hell would be texting her now?

_From Mikey: Workshop extended. In Seattle for another two weeks. We'll make up our surfouts big next time._

Santana frowned. She was really looking forward to this weekends surf outing. Mike was never home, and this year his contribution to their bro-time had been cut to a depressing fraction.

_To Mikey: You owe me, Chang. Bring back some more vodka juiceboxes. We're out_.

The itch in the back of her mind wouldn't go away. Sighing, she threw her phone back onto the counter and headed back to her black hole of a room. It felt like someone else had taken over her body. Her fingers moved over the mouse, clicking through picture after picture while her mind silently screamed for a break. At least she had stopped crying. Apparently the users of the internet called the two " St. Berry."

It wasn't until she decided to search Jesse St. James directly that she got the biggest relief, the one she had been searching for all night.

_Jesse and new boyfriend Leo[57 notes]_

There were many, many images of the boy in serious liplocks with some blonde guy.

After years of drinking, her tolerance gained considerable amount of weight. One bottle of wine wasn't enough to warrant a big hangover, but it was still an inconvenience to wake up to a stale taste and dry mouth, and the incessant phone ringing wasn't helping the day to a good start.

Rachel still looked undeniably beautiful. The years have treated her well. Santana shifted in her bed and let out a pathetic groan into the pillow she had situated on top of her face.

Robotically, she got up and dressed herself how she felt appropriate for a day to be spent in the backrooms of her shop. Her style was almost impeccable, even when she went for a casual look. Only when she went surfing did she stray from that.

Kurt gave a small smile when she entered the boutique. "Why, hello there, Ms. Lopez. You look stunning today. I told you that top would work with those boots."

His smile faltered and he questioningly gave her another once over. "Your smile is fake Santana. Please tell me you didn't wake up in a random girl's house only to have her girlfriend walk in on you."

"Just in a grumpy mood. Anything going on today?"'

Kurt nodded eagerly, "I do believe we have a few consults for the LGBTQ Gala VIP ticket holders." His handsome features perked up more as he leaned in, "And word on the street is saying Adele _will_ be there to perform. What if she's our major consult for real?"

"That'd be pretty fucking epic. Let's not get our hopes up just yet. And if she does come here, you can't go all fan-girl on her."

He was just about to open his mouth to spew his fantastic retort when the presence of a new body entered through the door.

"Sorry I'm late. I almost got into an accident on the freeway! I swear one of these days I'll lose it and run every single person over."

Santana lazily waved her hand at her. Tina was always late, and it was always traffic that seemed to keep her. "Whatever. I need you set up the new line. Kurt and I finished the displays last night."

"Oh god, Santana," Tina slumped over in defeat and whined. "Please tell me you're not really going to put those up. It feels like high school all over again. I'm starting to feel like I'll be swaying in the background like always."

"You and me both, sister," Kurt uttered through a frustrated exhale.

Santana gritted her teeth and swallowed a growl, though the look of irritation was not lost on her two high school friends. "We're not having this discussion again. This line has my blood, sweat, and tears embroidered into it." She cocked her head to the left slightly and let out a deep breath. "Besides, this is hot shit."

* * *

"Congratulations, Rachel! We all thought a dinner out on the town would be nice to celebrate, but someone wasn't picking up their phone."

Rachel jumped and shrieked a raw, high pitch as a response to the sudden interruption. A dainty hand rose to cover her chest. "Oh my god! Wyatt! You scared me half to death! I don't appreciate my warm-ups to be so rudely interrupted. But, I do appreciate your congratulating me. This is so perfect. I was born for this, and finally the universe has acknowledged my undeniable talent."

She was still on a high from the excitement and the morning's exercise with her fiancé. Quinn had given her praise with use of her skilled mouth and deft fingers, which caused a whole new level of high for the brunette.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Those notes you just hit were impressive by the way." Wyatt, her co-star, gave a small smile.

"Oh please. Honey, I can hit that note in my sleep."

"Yes, you are a talented little songbird." Wyatt stepped closer to the actress and cupped her face. "In a month's time you will be walking down the red carpet and you'll be announced as Best Lead Actress In A Musical."

"Don't jinx me!"

"So superstitious!" He teased. "Well, since you were ignoring my calls, I trust your lady took proper care in taking you out to celebrate?"

Rachel nodded vigorously as she tip-toed in her excitement. "She absolutely celebrated and gave me the congratulations any lady of Broadway should get."

"Which is…." He inquired.

"A display of her bedroom skills and..you know."

Wyatt's eyes widened as she gasped and bent down, as if to tell a secret. "It's about freaking time, Rachel! Did she do that thing you like?"

"Maybe."

For a gay man he loved details when it came to bedroom antics. He didn't mind giving the occasional boob grab. Rachel suspects this is due to the fluidity of the sexuality scale. He's one of those guys who'll make out with anything pretty, but when it comes to sex he sticks with the male gender.

Rehearsals went smoothly with Rachel hitting every note perfectly on pitch and delivering every word with powerful emotion. The crew always loved this part of their day – the rehearsals. Their least favorite would always be the diva tantrums from both Rachel and Wyatt, and even the second female lead. Despite the storm-outs and lectures Rachel Berry delivered, it was all worth it to see the star in her element. There truly was no one like her. The session let out earlier than expected, putting Rachel in a delightful mood.

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Quinn. Hailing a cab, she put the phone to her ear.

The call went straight to voicemail. Frowning, the singer settled into her cab and rambled off her address.

Twenty minutes later she sat on her couch cradling a glass of wine. Thoughts of her always drifted through her haze of alcohol. She wasn't sure why she thought it was a good idea this time, but the thought was planted, and she couldn't not do it; She was going to see if one Miss Santana Lopez had an account on twitter.

She found her answer.

"Oh my god."

_WankySnixx419, 140 following, 57 followers a little over 5k tweets._

A dull ache temporarily filled her but was quickly interjected by the playfulness of the handle. There were several other Santana Lopez profiles, but this particular one was no doubt her Santana.

Rachel sucked her bottom lip within her teeth, and though Quinn wasn't due home for another five hours or so, she felt the need to give her apartment a once over. A steady pump of anticipation and excitement, mixed in with a generous amount of dread coursed through veins as she clicked the necessary button to see her twitter page and tweets.

She frowned. For a second she was sure that the girl would be following her, but she wasn't.

So, she's in California. Rachel took a breath in and took some reverence that she had gotten out of Ohio- or Kentucky. She wasn't sure where she went once they split up. She assumed that she continued her studies in Kentucky, anyway.

The last tweet was this morning.

_WankySnixx419: fucking got lost on the internet like a damn rabbit down a hole. 10h_

_WankySnixx419: I swear if tchangboo sends me another cat video I'll cut a bitch 1d_

_WankySnixx419: Here's a pic of Juicebox wiping out last week. 1d_

_WankySnixx419: Had to chase a customer out for wearing fuzzy slippers. That shit is not cool. #KeepingItReal 1d_

If she tried hard enough, she would be able to bring up her voice and hear those tweets being said outloud. She'd hear the scoffs and tones of disgust and slight anger.

Her forehead scrunched up in thought, visualizing Santana working in a shop. She shuttered a bit, because the thought of her working customer service is backwards in logic.

She continued to scroll down, reading words that Santana typed.

_WankySnixx419: I knew she'd make it. No one else deserves it more than her_

What?

There's no way…but who else could she be talking about?

Rachel shut her laptop closed and scrunched her eyes to prevent any liquid betrayal seeping out of her eyes. She doesn't know what to think or feel. God, how can she still can this affect on her? How can Santana just tweet about her like it's not a big deal, like it doesn't hurt?

Probably because it doesn't hurt. She's moved on by now. No, God. She shouldn't even be thinking like this. She had Quinn, the girl she had a crush on in middle school and part of high school. I'm lucky as it is to even acquire the attention and love from Quinn Fabray.

Not wanting to think about the beautiful, brown-eyed blast from the past, Rachel changed into workout clothes and hopped onto her beloved elliptical machine (which she had since upgraded into a newer, lighter model).

She left her forty-five minute workout in a state of euphoria. Her body was humming with endorphins. Her morning routine hadn't changed since high school. Sometimes she added in an extra session to relieve added stress.

Rachel walked to her kitchen, aiming to fetch a glass of water, when the familiar sound of jingling keys alerted her to Quinn's arrival. It couldn't be anyone else, really. Puck was in Disneyland with Beth and he had the only other spare key. It was earlier than she anticipated her fiancé, but she wasn't going to complain.

The door flew open and Quinn's giggles followed shortly after. The entrance was not in the line of sight, so she heard Quinn before seeing her.

"Did you see his face, though? It was like he was an actual trout with his mouth opening and closing like that."

"Yes! And how red he got?" That was definitely not Quinn. "I really think you should just tape his mouth shut. God, why do you even allow him to speak at these things?"

"Quinn?" Rachel questioned.

Quinn turned and headed toward the kitchen area. "Rachel?" Once her fiancé was in eyesight, the brunette lifted her eyebrows in an obvious question. "I didn't think you'd be home until later," the blonde spoke softly as she walked toward the diva. Rachel gave her a quick peck on her lips before speaking up.

"I've finished my rehearsals early. Who's your friend?"

The other girl, another brunette, stood stock still with her eyes bulging and mouth agape. She was beautiful in a mousey sort of way. She had the girl-next-door vibe pegged with her cardigan and beanie.

"Oh. Well, this is Marley Rose. She's one of the concept artists, and get this: she's from Lima!" The former HBIC shifted her body to angle toward Marley. "Marley, this is my fiancé, Rachel Berry.

"Y-you're. You. Oh my god. You're Rachel Berry!" The girl bounced in place and awkwardly flailed her arms at her side. "I am a huge, huge fan. I think you're amazing, and your voice is just perfect. I saw your sho-"

"Whoa, Marley. You're going to make my fiancé's head expand even more if you keep fanning her egofire."

"Oh, Quinn." Rachel walked to her fawning fan and held out her hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Marley. I'd give you a hug, but I'm afraid I've just finished my workout."

Marley pulled the star into a tight embrace, regardless. "I can't believe I'm hugging Rachel Berry."

Meanwhile, Quinn was watching the display with mild amusement. A part of her was mildly jealous at just how close their bodies were. "Marley, please don't suffocate my girl." The blonde ran fingers through her choppy hair.

"Sorry. I just.. Wait.." Marley stopped herself and looked at the blonde before continuing. "You never told me you were engaged to Rachel Berry!"

"I didn't know you were into theater." Quinn took the glass of water on the counter and took a sip. "Besides, we're not really wanting the whole world to know about us."

"My lips are sealed."

Rachel gave Quinn another small kiss. "I'm heading to my shower now. Again, it was nice meeting you, Marley."

"I can't do this."

"What? What do you mean?"

Marley clasped her hands together and kept her view on the wall ahead of her. Quinn was sitting on her couch beside her.

"I just-You're expecting too much out of me. I thought I could handle it, but-"

"Okay, calm down. I trust you because I know you're very capable."

"It just feels too real this time. I mean, with Sam by my side, I might not die, but..."

"Are you serious?" Quinn asked.

Marley's face scrunched up. "I don't think I can... I mean I feel just fine doing the panel thing and all. It's just that I don't feel comfortable dressing up in-in- that!"

"Mar, you designed that costume!"

"Yeah, but I didn't think I'd be wearing it!"

The blonde blew out a breath through her teeth. "I don't need this now on top of everything else. Whatever. I need the next issues to be perfect and I need you at Comic Con. In costume."

Marley relented, sighing. Her face then twitched a bit and she stood straight up.

"It's her isn't it?!"

Quinn just raised her eyebrow.

"The main character. She's Rachel."

Quinn nodded. "Yes."

"God. I can't believe you've been having me draw your fiancé all this time," Marley said incredulously."You made a fucking comic book about her, Quinn! She's nominated for a Tony. You're engaged to her."

"What – are you going to annotate my life? I know all of this already. And for fuck's sake keep your voice down." Quinn was whispering sternly but she still had a completely calm expression. Everything about her appearance screamed indifference to the situation.

"You don't know how lucky you are, do you?"

"Of course I do. Now get that costume made, pronto."

"There!" Tina exclaimed. "Broadway Prep collection is now up and ready."

* * *

Kurt strode toward the wall the held the new collection to admire his handiwork. He ran a smooth finger across an eyebrow, a habit he developed when stressed. "Yes, it's not my best, but Santana is a slave driver. Do not get me wrong; the designs are flawless. It's just that it reminds me so much of -"

"Rachel." They both finished.

Tina nodded and titled her head to look at the sides of one of the skirts. "I don't know why she's torturing herself with this. Why would she want to have Rachel Berry in her shop?"

"Love is a strange, strange thing, darling. Speaking of, Blaine is having a wine and cheese party. You are coming by at seven tonight."

"Oh, please tell me you're not setting me up on yet another disastrous blind date, Kurt."

"There may or may not be single, gorgeous screenwriters."

Tina laughed and shook her head. "Hun, everyone here is a screenwriter."

"He looks like he could be Jake Gyllenhaal's brother."

"What should I wear?"


End file.
